


Indisposed

by Amatara



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In which Albert has Lodge sickness and angst ensues, Missing Scene, Season/Series 03, Supernatural Elements, Twin Peaks: The Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatara/pseuds/Amatara
Summary: "We came out to join you while Albert's indisposed", Gordon says to Diane in part 9, looking entirely unconcerned, so of course we assume there's no crisis... but what if there is, and Albert has been trying to hide it? Missing scene for Twin Peaks: The Return. Aka: the one where Albert has Lodge sickness and his lady friends help him out.





	Indisposed

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to renmorris, laughingpinecone and babe-without-the-arms, for coming up with the ideas that made me decide this needed to be written. <3

*

He isn’t sure when it hits him that something’s not right. One small thing, among the truckload of wrongness that crashed into their lives the moment Cooper popped up like a genie from a bottle - albeit one with a very bad haircut - so maybe Albert has an excuse. That, and the past fifteen minutes have been almost pleasant. Sure, they’re in a morgue, and the late Garland Briggs isn’t the most talkative fellow given how he’s missing a head, but at least the coroner is talking, matching Albert’s quips beat for deadpan beat. Maybe that’s why it takes him a while to realize that his right arm is tingling and there’s a faint, coppery taste at the back of his throat.

Honestly, it feels like nothing. Less than nothing, or at least that’s what he thought the first time this happened, by now a great many years ago. But the sensation, now he’s aware of it, is as telling as a right hook to the jaw, and Albert spends a few moments frantically trying to think when he notices the great big nothing where conversation used to be.

They’re staring. Gordon, Tammy, the Air Force gal and the coroner, they’ve all got their faces turned towards him like they’re waiting for him to deliver the punchline to a joke. Maybe they are; Talbot is eyeballing him from across the slab, probably expecting a comeback to whatever inappropriate pun she just blurted out, except he missed the point entirely and asking her to repeat it would only attract more attention.

He sets his jaw and straightens, pushing the folder he was holding into Tammy’s hands. “What are you all staring at? I’m a federal officer, not a comedian.” Talbot’s eyebrows climb up half the distance across her forehead, but if she recognizes a Star Trek reference when she hears one, she doesn’t let it show. By now his right hand is starting to spasm, and something bright and hazy flickers across his vision. Fuck - he has to get out of here, before he can no longer hide it and another of his meticulously kept secrets comes crashing down around his ears. “I, ah, could use a break. Bathroom’s down there?” To his chagrin, he can’t actually remember.

“Outside, take a left, down the corridor, turn the corner and then left again,” Talbot says, not missing a beat. Something in her expression tells him she caught the minuscule tremor in his voice, and her eyes narrow but she doesn’t say anything else.

“APOLOGIES AGAIN FOR ALBERT,” Gordon starts, but Tammy hushes him, fingers on his sleeve, and the brief silence that follows is just long enough for Albert to make his escape through the door.

By the time he makes it to the bathroom, he knows this one’s going to be a doozy.

He doesn’t always black out. The time before this one, he managed to take his meds before it hit him for real, so maybe if he makes it quick, he can…

Crap. Patting down his pockets for his pillbox, he realizes it isn’t there. Left it in his bag, probably. Fucking idiot. Going back for it is out of the question, because the tremors have worsened to the point where if he stops leaning against the sink his knees will give out, and anyway he’s too light-headed to make it that far. He is going to pass out, then, the only question is when, but he can’t afford to wait and find out. Not unless he wants to trip and crack his head open, in which case any hope of secrecy will have gone down the drain, and he’s gone to too much trouble to hide this thing from Gordon that he isn’t about to betray himself now.

There’s no pain, which is a small comfort; just a mounting sense of dread and the vague impression of a shimmering red curtain blanketing his vision as the rest of his body starts to tremble. He slides down the wall into a sitting position, considers staying there, but no. Too risky. Lie down, then, which makes him feel even more exposed than before - if Cole comes in here, to look for him or take a leak, he’s a goner - but it’s the only way to be sure he won’t injure himself. Curling onto his side, knees tucked up and arms wrapped around his chest, he’s hit with a sudden, paralyzing need to not be alone - but who is there he can trust right now? Once, the answer would have been Coop, but the real Coop is long gone, replaced by a slack-faced impostor with coals for eyes and a blackened husk where his soul should be. It’s just Albert left, and he‘d better fucking hang in there if there’s to be any hope of fixing this mess.

His eyelids close, but he doesn’t fight it. So many things these days he can’t expend the energy to fight. But he’s tired, and his jaw is cold where it’s mashed against the floor, and when he slips under it’s almost a relief to let go.

Someone’s knocking. Loud, insistent, thumping the door with rapid blows that feel like they’re delivered straight to his skull, and Albert spends the first stomach-churning moments of consciousness trying to figure out what’s up and what’s down.

“Albert, for fuck’s sake, it’s been twenty minutes! I’m running out off cigarettes and Gordon nicked two off of me already, so -” Muffled shouting in the background. “What? It’s true.”

“I’m f…” Albert croaks, drily, but runs out of breath before he can manage _fine_. Not that he is, but maybe he can buy enough time to recover while Diane and Gordon are hashing it out.

“What was that?” Diane calls to him again, and then, “No, no, he’s in there, I heard him. Speak up, Albert, or I’m coming in! Yes, I know it’s the fucking men’s room, Gordon, but you said indisposed and since I don’t see you checking for yourself, _someone_ should… I don’t care about appropriate, I... oh, fine, just walk away!” And then the door opens and Diane is sticking her head through, just when Albert rolls over onto his back.

“Close the door,” he rasps, struggling to push himself up on his elbows even though his limbs feel like jelly. “Dammit, Diane, either come in and close that door, or get out.”

Diane’s eyes widen. It’s the only change in her expression that betrays her surprise, apart from the flare of her nostrils when she breathes in sharply. “Tammy,” she barks over her shoulder, in what must have been the first time she’s called Preston by her first name. “The coroner - Talbot, was it? Go get her.” She waits for what sounds like an affirmative from Tammy, then shuts the door behind her. “That coroner’s a doctor, right? Yeah, I know, so are you, but given… well, _this_ , I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

“Diane…” Albert hisses, but his throat is parched and he has to lower his head to the tiles as the muscles in his arms protest. “Don’t… start. Where’s Gordon?”

“Said he was gonna go outside. Something about respecting your privacy - damn coward, if you ask me. Want me to get him?”

“No.” Albert breathes a sigh of relief. So there’s still a chance he can keep Gordon out of this. The apparent lack of concern for his well-being stings, but it’s true that Gordon knows how much Albert values his privacy. It’s part of their working relationship that they give each other a wide berth in things personal, or Albert might have walked out years ago. “My bag. I left it in the autopsy room. There’s a bottle of pills in the inner compartment, could you…?” He tries not to make it a plea.

“Yeah. Sure.” Something in her expression softens. “I think Preston brought your stuff. Give me a minute.” And she’s gone again.

It turns out to be less than a minute, which isn’t nearly enough time to haul himself up into a more dignified position. But when the door opens again and not just Diane but the coroner and then finally Tammy file through, Albert at least feels steady enough to throw them all a warning glare. “Right. So now that we’ve established I’m a damn carnival attraction, can we please move on?”

Tammy blinks slowly, holding up a small glass bottle. “I… brought the pills you asked for.” He can tell she’s dying to ask if he’s all right, even though the answer is painfully obvious.

“Let me see those.” Talbot takes the meds from Tammy, frowns at the label for a second before squatting down. “D’you take these with water?”

“Nah.” Albert maneuvers himself up onto one elbow, lets her shake a pill into his hand and swallows it dry. He loathes how weak he still is, but that can’t be helped. Maybe if he could sit upright…

“Not so fast,” Talbot says, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “Your friend here asked for a doctor, so you’re getting one.” She reaches for the bag she brought, opens it with an ominous _click_ and digs out a blood pressure cuff. At the look on his face, she gives him a smile that’s practically a challenge. “Don’t worry, Agent Rosenfield, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“It’s Doctor Rosenfield, and I’ll be the judge of that.” Albert scowls. “Look, I appreciate the effort, but I’m fine. No harm done. If you just -”

“Well, this happens to be my morgue, and we’ve got plenty of refrigerators here to store _unbending_ patients, if you catch my meaning, Doctor Rosenfield.” There’s definite humor underlying the words, but of the kind that Albert knows is just a way to distract him from the inevitability of his capitulation. “Now. Can someone tell me what happened?”

“I found him -” Diane starts, just when Albert rolls his eyes and, against his better judgment, gives in.

“I had a seizure,” he sighs.

“A seizure?” That’s Tammy, clearly struggling to keep her voice neutral. “Albert…”

“Not the first one either, was it?” Talbot picks up the bottle of pills again, rattles it experimentally. “Seeing as you came prepared with this. I’m no expert, but this is a very interesting cocktail. Self-made?”

“Trial and error.” Albert shrugs. While Talbot busies herself taking his pulse, he looks up at Tammy. “And yes. I’ve had… episodes… before. They seemed random at first, until I realized they’re triggered by... supernatural occurrences.” The last two words come out a mumble. Beside him, Talbot throws him a long look but doesn’t comment. “I know it sounds ludicrous, I used to think so too, but…”

“Supernatural. You mean Blue Rose,” Diane says. She’s looking down from where she’s leaning against the sink, something dark and unreadable in her eyes.

“Among other things.” Albert nods, surprised by her reaction - but then, he probably shouldn’t be. Diane knows, doesn’t she? She knows all about the kind of things that go bump in the night.

“Dale used…” Her voice cracks. “Cooper used to have dreams. Visions. Is it anything like that?”

“No. No visions.” He swallows, turning his head. “That at least might have made this crap worth it.” The stone floor against the back of his scalp is less than comfortable, and the memory of Cooper hardly helps as a distraction. But for Diane to be openly talking about this, even if she’s just asking questions, is too big a deal not to reciprocate. “Speaking of Cooper… I had episodes both times we visited federal prison. The first one came on slowly enough I could just pop a pill and ride it out. The second time, I went prepared.” He tries to ignore Tammy’s look of distress. “But I thought Briggs’ body was just a body, so this one caught me by surprise.”

Talbot clucks her tongue. “Well, pulse is perfectly normal. Can someone give me a hand to help sit him up?”

To Albert’s surprise, it’s Diane who reacts first, stepping over him to crouch on his other side. Between her and Talbot, they help him into a sitting position; he feels dizzy and slow, almost lethargic, but it’s a familiar discomfort and he knows it’ll fade soon enough.

“Albert…” Tammy looks like she’s still processing the betrayal - which, in a way, he knows it is. “That first time. At the restaurant. Is that when you became ill?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “It was.”

“I never realized. I mean… I knew something was bothering you, but I thought it was just about how Cooper was acting, and that talk you had with Gordon where he sent me away.” 

Diane chuckles, but it’s not a pleasant sound. “'Emotional constipation’ is what they call it these days. If Albert -”

“Oh, that’s rich, look who’s calling the kettle black -”

“If Albert,” Diane repeats, steamrolling right over him, “decides he’s got a good reason to keep something from you, good fucking luck trying to find out. He’s right, by the way. It takes one to know one.” She shoots him a look that’s half bitterness and half grudging affection. Tammy, looking only half convinced, manages a tight-lipped smile.

Talbot, who stayed quiet during the whole exchange, takes advantage of the moment to sneak in with a blood pressure cuff. “You picked an interesting career, Doctor Rosenfield,” she says, with a subtly raised eyebrow, “if supernatural events are just another diagnosis to you.” He can’t tell if she’s being serious or baiting him; chances are it’s something of both.

“Let’s say the career picked me,” Albert mutters, lifting his arm while she pumps the cuff. Not that it’ll do much good, but then she probably knows that, and if her going through the motions helps reassure the others - or Tammy, at least - then what’s the harm? “And believe me when I say I used to believe all of this was bullshit too. Then Dale Cooper happened, and I’ve been on the train to Nuttersville myself ever since. And, seeing as you’ve just been dragged onto it as well, ‘Albert’ will do.”

“Constance.” Apparently satisfied, she tucks the cuff back into her kit. “But I don’t know if I want to be on that train… _Albert_. Seems to me that there’s worse fates than ending up on a slab, and that the kind of things you’re meddling in can deliver you there faster than you can say ‘the cat’s out of the bag’.”

Albert barks out a laugh, then passes a hand in front of his eyes. The last thing he wants is to lie back down, but he’s shivering and his muscles feel sore and he’s not sure how long he can manage without getting some sleep. “Well, this cat ain’t out of the bag yet, and I’d rather it stayed that way. Diane, did you say Gordon went for a walk?”

“I gave him a cigarette. He'll be a while.”

Albert groans. “Christ, Diane…”

“Hey.” She prods his arm, not unkindly, then detaches herself and starts to get to her feet. Without her shoulder to help prop him up, Albert sways for a precarious few seconds until Talbot - _Constance -_ grabs his elbow. “Can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.” Diane makes a face. “Be grateful your secret's not out already.”

The sound of Tammy’s heels dragging the floor makes Albert glance up. “You’re not going to tell Gordon,” she says. “About your little… problem.” To her credit, she doesn’t turn it into a question. Attagirl _._

Albert shakes his head. “If I do, he’ll be required to report me, make sure I’m checked over and cleared for duty. I know I’m capable, but I don’t trust those dumbbells back in Philly to know a papercut from a stab wound, let alone deal with something like this. No. We’re here to find Cooper or find out what happened to him, and I’m not getting off this case until I got some answers.” He trails off, breathless, suddenly feeling too old for any of this. No rest for the weary, huh? “Please, Tammy. I’ll be fine in an hour. I just need to sleep this off.”

Tammy doesn’t react to that, only turns to Constance as if looking for an ally. “Doctor Talbot? What’s your medical opinion?”

Constance gives a shrug. “I’d have liked his blood pressure to be a little higher, but otherwise he checks out fine. Physically, I mean. Everything else is so far out of my ballpark I won’t even think of making a diagnosis. But I don’t believe there’s an acute risk, if that’s what you're asking.”

“That’s settled, then.” It’s Diane who breaks the silence, looking up from where she was scowling into the mirror as if she couldn’t care less about the whole exchange. Not that Albert believes that for a second. “Now what? We’ll need to leave at some point, head back to the hotel.”

“How about…” Constance says, chewing her lip. “We can say you wanted another look at the body, make sure I didn’t miss anything. That’d give you an hour or so to get some rest. Then I’ll drive you back to the hotel. We can say I’m joining you for dinner, if that makes it more convincing.”

“Dinner, as in dinner _date_?” Albert sniffs. "I’d say that makes it less convincing, not more. Nothing personal, just…” Just that he hasn’t dated in years, least of all women, but then Gordon might just be the one person in the entire Bureau who hasn’t deduced that particular fact about him, so… why the hell not?

“I’ll convince Gordon,” Tammy says, looking relieved at the prospect of doing something concrete. “And don’t sell yourself short, Albert, you’re a fine-looking gentleman for your age.”

“For my _age_?” he snaps, trying to muster indignation but finding himself inexplicably amused. “Well, then let me reciprocate by saying you’re pretty sharp for being fresh out of preschool.” As comforting as the moment of banter feels, it takes more out of him than he expected; he feels shivery and distant and his head is swimming. “Speaking of which, time for my nap. You two take Gordon back to the hotel, so Constance here can find me a bed.”

“No beds, I’m afraid,” Constance says, watching him watch Tammy open the door and, with a last pained glance at him, slip outside. Diane follows, but doesn't look back. “I can offer you a couch or a slab.”

“Either is fine.” He hasn’t slept on a slab since he stopped doing autopsies, but he did it often enough as a young agent, back when all-nighters were still a way of life. “Just don’t put me in the freezer, will you? Anyplace warm will do.”

“In that case, I'll make sure not to stick around.” She lifts his arm around her shoulder to give him a hand up. When he gives her a blank look, she shrugs. “I'm a cold one, they say. Nothing much fazes me, I joke about the kind of things that give other people nightmares, and I’m more comfortable with the dead than the living. I’m sure you know the type.” Her grin is ever so slightly wistful. “I hope you find your friend, Albert.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he says, waiting for the by-now-familiar wave of dread to wash over him at the thought of Cooper, wherever - or _whoever _\- he is now. No point in wasting energy on worst-case scenarios; just take one step, and then the next one, until they either get somewhere or there's nowhere left to go. “I just hope we haven’t found him yet.”__

____

*

____


End file.
